


Walk Softly

by tinypinkmouse



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Drama, Family, Gen, Implied Relationship, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect it all seems so inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk Softly

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope this fic makes sense. It jumps back and forth in time, so basically there's Prowl being all introspective and stuff on Earth around the time when the 'bots are all living in the Ark and then there's the whole seemingly unconnected narrative on Cybertron back when the war was still new-ish. It all goes a bit AU and is pretty vague. There's room for interpretation. *nods* Yes, that's what I'm calling it. Room for interpratation. Speaking of which, the story is gen, but Jazz and Prowl are pretty close...

In the end logic is a cold sort of comfort. If there was ever a time when Prowl had wanted to shut of his battle computer and ignore his logic centre this would be it. He can't. They're always there, the connections, plans, conclusion, statistics constantly offered up for scrutiny. There's no way he can ever get away from that and he wouldn't know how to function without his logic centre, but right now he still wishes that it would stop connecting all the puzzle pieces, stop showing him how it is all true.

He's already half way through all the damage control. It's all too late for some things, but the fallout still has to be contained. Prowl knows that it will be a lot of work, but there's always a lot of work and he's mapped most of it out already.

Prowl doesn't want to be making plans. He wants to sit down and go through his memory banks and not have his logic centre latch on to every thing he missed when he first experienced the memory in question. Prowl wants to get over-energized on cheap high-grade and forget everything.

Prowl can't do that. Instead his logic centre does what it always does, he goes through all the connections and makes the plans. Someone has to and he's the best qualified. He wouldn't trust anyone else to do it properly.

Logic is a cold comfort, but it's the only kind of comfort Prowl has ever had. He is certain that soon it will make the world make sense again.

* * *

"This is what we were sparked for bro," he sends over the secured frequency. It's so fragging secured that there are only two mechs he knows who can use it and he's counting himself.

There's no answer, but a faint trace of amusement trickles over the connection and brushes over his processors. And yeah, there's that. No one else can use the connection between them, it's part of how they were built and sparked.

It's been too fragging long since they've done this, at least properly. Not since the war broke out and isn't that nice and ironic. But there's no fragging subtlety to this war; it's a photon cannon to the chestplate, where a discreet hack and a few lines of code would do.

He finishes the hack and pulls out his data jack, grinning all the while. He has missed this. "You done yet?"

"Affirmative," comes the answer. "Proceeding to next stage."

"We still in the clear? No soldiers joining the party yet?" He sends over as he makes his way to his own objective, slipping quietly through the empty corridors.

"Scout reports: situation normal."

"So who're we peddling this slag to anyway? We'd have to ditch this town soon anyhow, I'm not risking getting caught in the fighting if I can help it, so that's no problem. There just ain't too many sides out there, you know, and there ain't much they could give us that's worth it."

That was one thing about government collapsing, it really cut down on the job opportunities. Especially if you happened to work for the government. Not that either of them had any problems selling to the highest bidder, but credits weren't worth slag these days. Not on Cybertron anyway and it's not like there was any handy transport anywhere else.

Yeah, he really hated this slagging war.

"Why enquire now?"

"Hey, you say we need to break in here and get this thing and you know that's good enough for me. You know me, never was big with the reasons. It always kept me happier not knowing what some of it was for. Keep forgetting that it's all on us now."

"Off planet passage."

Well scrap, that'd be worth it and he didn't care which side they were giving this slag to. Now he'd worked for the government and all and Cybertron was home, but scrap if he was getting deactivated for it.

"For both of us, yeah?"

"Affirmative."

"Well bro, let's get this super weapon stolen already and get the frag out of here."

There's no answer, but he wasn't expecting it. He's almost there. His bro's been opening doors and keeping him of the grid well enough, but the security for the room he needs to get into is all in a closed system and it'll all be up to him, he's not getting any help on this one.

"Decepticons."

Frag. That's the war arriving just there and frag, couldn't they have waited a breem? They knew it was coming, that's why they were doing this as fast as possible and with less planning than either of them were happy with, but frag, he'd been hoping they'd get away before the war came to them. Again.

He takes out his data jack again and sticks it into the port. No need to panic yet, there's still time.

Of course that's when things get completely fragged beyond all recognition.

"Abort," he manages to get out and throws up every fragging firewall he has. Slag, slag, slag! If there was any time he'd fragging well admire the fragging genius that made this fragging security system, but right then he's too fragging busy trying to keep the fragging virus from corrupting all of his fragging systems. "Get the slag out of here, bro. Now!"

* * *

"I can't believe it."

It's what Spike kept saying after they were found. The sentiment, if not necessarily the words, is echoed by everyone. In Sunstreaker's case it's also followed by violent cursing and descriptions on various ways to damage a mech's systems without permanently deactivating them, because Sunstreaker really wants to take his time. Of course, that's only when Ratchet kicks him out of med bay.

Prowl is the only one who has no trouble at all believing it. It's so horrifically logical now that he knows. He could give you the numbers for it, could tell you exactly how small the probability is that this is somehow a misunderstanding. That it isn't all happening.

The probability that this would ever happen had been negligible, so much so that anyone else would have called it an impossibility. Prowl had never considered it a true possibility, but that was before. He can only operate on known parameters. Now his logic centre makes the same calculations with the new information.

It's too late, all too late now.

With every new piece of information, every new connection he can make from all their past actions, Prowl makes those same calculations again. Every time the probability gets higher until it all seems almost inevitable. Then again, Prowl knows the answer already. It did happen.

* * *

Frag.

He really hates this slagging war. Really, really hates it.

He's moving just about as fast as he can right now. The servos in his right ped whir and click frantically and he knows the damned thing is about a nano-click away from giving out. Transforming would be a slagging good thing right now. Except his transformation sequence is still scrambled.

Slagging virus.

He ducks and rolls and prays to fragging Primus that his right ped will hold up for the next astrosecond. He lands hard, but all that matters is that his photon pistol is where he wants it and he fires. Again and again. The mech who'd been following didn't see that move coming, mostly because it was pure desperation on his part, but whatever works, right?

His cooling fans are going into overdrive. He hears a groan from the other mech who's down, but apparently still kicking. He really hopes the mech's hit bad enough to stay down, otherwise he's pretty much slagged. Because he sure as the pit ain't getting up on that ped of his.

It feels like several vorns pass. His systems keep insisting it's no more than a nano-click, but Primus only knows how far he can trust that. His systems are glitching all over the place from that fragging virus. He really needs the time to do a full systems check and hopefully he doesn't need to scrap too many lines of code, because frag, he's fine with himself the way he is. Oh and while he takes the time to do that, he should get his ped fixed, not to mention the other bits that need some work. Yeah, he'll get right on that.

He crawls over toward the other mech, because he's reduced to crawling now. Apparently he managed to hit something pretty vital and that's pure dumb luck, the mech is crumbled down on the scrap covered ground and while his laser pistol is still in his hand, it doesn't look like he can actually move it.

Well Primus slagging be prized, something's going his way.

"We don't have to do this," the mech squawks out through a fritzing vocaliser. "We're not trying to…"

"Yeah, yeah… I've heard it before. You're not the bad guys, it's the other side. This is just a big misunderstanding and we'll just wait for the rest of your guys to find us and then we'll all go hold hands with each other."

Blue is a nice colour, he's always liked it.

"We didn't… destroy the city…"

"You know what, stick it up your thrusters."

It's not like he cared about this city more than any other, he'd just happened to be living in this one at the moment. Didn't matter much to him which side did what. Slagging war.

He's managed to crawl over to the mech and the blue is a nice shade, even when it's kind of scratched and banged up. Lighter than he likes, but still darker than the optics. Less bulky than a lot of them, built for speed more than heavy lifting. Yeah, he's probably real pretty when he's less banged up.

Briefly he wonders what the mech was before the war. Doesn't much matter now, soon they're all going to be soldiers or deactivated. Neutral ain't gonna cut it for long anymore.

He pushes himself up 'til he's sitting, his fragged ped bent in a way it probably shouldn't be. He reaches into his subspace pocket and pulls out a slender energon blade. The mech's optics go wide and he knows what's going through the others CPU. It's the kind of weapon that's only meant for one thing and they're slagging hard to come by, since they aren't exactly easy to make. Forging energon into an actual stable weapon is a fragging risky sort of business.

"You're…" the mech's vocaliser gives out and that's okay.

"Yeah," he says. "Sorry kid, nothing personal. Just the way things are."

The blade slides easily through the mech's chestplate and into his spark chamber. Unlike what some Cybertronians believe this doesn't actually make the spark explode, that's only when you shove a piece of unstable energon into someone's spark. He's seen it happen once, because that's the kind of things he gets to see, not something he'd recommend anyone try out. This is much quieter, there's a power surge and then the spark just goes out.

He pulls out the blade and returns it to its subspace pocket. He drags himself over to the deactivated mech's peds and goes to work. He needs his ped working if he wants to get out of here, he's just hoping he'll manage that before either side comes looking for them. It doesn't matter who it is, they find him like this and he's fragged either way.

Slagging neutrality ain't gonna cut it.

Slagging war.

* * *

They all think Prowl doesn't care. It's not like that surprises Prowl, everyone always thinks he doesn't care. He acts like he always has, goes on to do what he always has. Prowl doesn't know any other way to be. Not on his own.

Every once in a while, no more than once a vorn at most, when the stress and constant alertness just gets to be too much, when it feels like his CPU can't handle one more logical computation, Jazz will always show up. He'll be there with some transparent excuse that Prowl will always see through, just like Jazz always knows he will. Jazz will insist that Prowl go with him and Prowl will let himself be lured on some ridiculous pretext and then Jazz will take them somewhere secluded with just the two of them and he'll let Prowl get completely over-energized while Jazz watches over him.

There's no way Prowl can do anything like that now. All he can do is go on like he always has, do what he has to do. He goes through the logs, changes the codes, makes sure that nothing has been tampered with and continues his duties like nothing is out of the ordinary.

It's all Prowl can ever do now.

* * *

"So how fragged am I?"

He lets his optics stay offline. The ped his head is resting on doesn't move, but his audios can easily pick up the faint whir of servos. He grins, and they say his bro ain't expressive.

"There is extensive damage." The hand resting on his chestplate flexes minutely, fingers pressing harder against his metal for an astrosecond.

"It's fixable, right? 'Cause I don't wanna end up like one of those permanently glitched crazies, you know?"

"Yes."

"Aw… don't tell me, I'll have to reboot. How much are you rewriting there anyway?" Servos whir and click furiously, but he can't feel anything moving at all. "Yeah, I know I'm damned lucky."

There's the sound of cooling fans cycling air and he smiles.

"We're not getting off this floating ball of metal anytime soon are we?" He asks quietly.

"No."

"So any thoughts on which side you're gonna join? 'Cause you know I can go either way."

He can hear the faint clank of metal against metal and his processors aren't so fragged that he doesn't realise that it's the sound of his bro's chestplate and the hand that was probably just moved over it.

"Yeah, there's that. Well I'm not that much for love and compassion anyway."

A finger taps against his chestplate once. "You…"

"Bro," he cuts him off. "I know what we were built for. I wasn't programmed to be one of the good mechs."

For a while there's just the faint sound of air through cooling fans.

"I better not come out of this with a weird liking for pink or anything," he says before he starts to systematically offline each one of his systems.

* * *

Prowl had asked Jazz once why the other mech insisted on being friends. Why Prowl's demeanour didn't keep him away just like it did everyone else. It wasn't the kind of thing you just asked someone and that was exactly Prowl's point. Prowl was socially awkward, he wasn't approachable, he didn't quite know what to do with emotions. Not exactly the sort of mech someone like Jazz should want to stay around.

"You don't crowd me like everyone else," Jazz had told him quietly. "Besides, I like you."

Prowl has never had any reason to doubt those words, to think that Jazz had been telling him anything but the truth. Jazz never gave him a reason.

Now… logic tells him that Jazz had gained nothing by befriending Prowl, other than Prowls company. It had help him gain no status, had not helped him sneak into any systems or gained him access anywhere. All it had ever given Jazz was Prowl. Logic has never told Prowl why Jazz would want that, and only that, and now it seems to make even less sense.

There's no one Prowl can tell these things to, the only one he has ever been able to talk about these sorts of things is Jazz. Because Jazz seemed to understand even when Prowl wasn't sure himself, seemed to understand even when Prowl didn't have any words. Jazz who never should have understood so well, because he was everything Prowl never has been.

When he thinks about Jazz his spark aches and Prowl isn't sure what that means, except that despite everything, despite logic, he wishes Jazz was here.

* * *

No one's ever said he wasn't quick on his peds, both figuratively and literally. That's how come he manages to freak out everyone in the med bay when he onlines and pretty much bursts out laughing.

"I'm not hysterical," he tells the medic. "I'm just fine, just relieved to still be online, you know," he grins and sees the tension in the mech lessen, hears how servos quiet slightly, pistons stop humming with restrained motion.

It's a sentiment most mechs can relate to these days, so it's not exactly hard to believe.

"My systems ain't about to crash anytime soon, are they?" He asks, letting a bit of worry slip into his voice. The beauty of a finely tuned vocaliser.

What he really wants to do is tell all these slagging mechs to take a flying leap straight into the pit, so he can be the frag out of here and find his slagging glitch of a bro and beat some sense into that fragging overly analytical piece of scrap CPU of his.

Of course that's not what he says.

"No, you're systems check out fine. There were a few small injuries that we fixed while you were offline. Your right ped was the worst of it really."

He is already running a diagnostic over his internal systems, he'll get to his chassis in a moment. There is no way he is letting anyone fiddle with him and not find out what's been done in detail. He's a slagging finely tuned machine after all. One that gets banged up a bit more than he wants to, but still he knows every damned nut and bolt and every stray line of code in him and why he needs them. Doesn't make him an expert in any of it necessarily (except in some things it really does), but when it comes to his own systems there's no mechanic or programmer that'll ever know more than he does.

"Thanks I… what happened? I know I was at home when… well the 'cons…"

He really should have known. Should have known his bro would take the opportunity to stick him with the supposed good guys when he could. Frag it, and he's supposed to be the caring one? Right, good one bro. He could be a slagging 'con with the best of them. Frag, better than most. Cold sparked, that's him, that's both of them.

Slag it all. He still can. It isn't like these 'bots could stop him. Except this is as good an opportunity as any to take a look around, see what these glitches really are like. He can always look up his bro later, and he'll be damned if he won't beat the slag out of him then.

He'll maybe think about saying thanks after that. He knows his bro only has his best in mind.

* * *

After a while things settle down. Sideswipe gets out of med bay and seems to be fine, Sunstreaker quiets down on the threats of drawn out painful deactivation. Except even Prowl can see that they aren't fine. Because Sideswipe was never that quiet before and Sunstreaker has always been aggressive, but he never used to look like he was going to rip the head of any mech who dared to come close to his brother.

It's been long enough that they've all noticed and steadfastly ignored the Jazz shaped hole in their normal routines. It's surprising how very much Jazz did around the Ark. Not just officially as Sub-Commander, but off duty as well. Now with Jazz gone and with what happened everyone is a bit more on edge.

Everyone knows what happened, more or less. But no one really knows, except for Sideswipe and he's given his report to Prime and it only says what it has to and no one has the spark to force him to tell anything more. They know what Spike saw, but then Spike was unconscious for most of it. Mostly they know what kind of condition Sideswipe was in when they found him. There was a good reason for Ratchet to keep him in the med bay so long.

Prowl realises at one point that he doesn't want to know. He should want to, should want to have all the possible data, make all the possible calculations for the best way to proceed from here. But Prowl does not want to know. He doesn't want to know the specifics, doesn't want to know why they found Sideswipe leaking mech fluid all over the place, with both knees shot out, with wires ripped out of his arms and pieces of the insides gone, a broken optic and deep gouges in his chestplate that went far enough that they'd cracked his spark chamber. Prowl doesn't want to know how any of that happened, it's enough that he knows that Jazz is responsible.

Sometimes someone mentions Jazz by accident and for a moment everyone freezes. Then everything goes on, like the last nano-click had never happened. Like Jazz had never existed at all. They're all getting better at avoiding mentioning him. It's almost like his memories of Jazz are some sort of glitch in his systems.

* * *

He falls down on his berth and grins at the other mech in the small room. Housing isn't exactly luxurious in the middle of a war, but he's had worse.

"So they told me I'm your fourth roommate," he says casually.

There's the faintest hitch in the soft hum of cooling fans and he thinks he can see the rigid set of doorwings tense a fraction more. He thinks that he could learn to recognise the sound of that if he wants to, the faint clangs and whirs that must accompany the tensing of those shoulders and maybe even the small metallic hum of twitching doorwings.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I told them to put me here. I heard them talking and I'd seen you around a few times." He shrugs slightly. "Didn't think you seemed so bad."

That's pretty close to the truth. Of course he made pretty damn sure he would end up in this room since seeing the other around a few times was more like he'd been watching the mech for a while now. The mech is fascinating.

Besides if he is staying (which at the moment doesn't seem like such a bad idea) he wants to be around someone who doesn't sound so fragging idealistic. Slag it, these 'bots are the good guys in this. They really are, but most of them are so fragging nice and understanding and slag it they're just naïve. Of course that's probably part of what makes them the good guys, but this is a fragging war. They need a bit more cold sparked determination (he's seen that too, when it's needed. Frag it. He wouldn't think about staying if he didn't think this side actually might have a chance).

"Now," he says and leans back a bit. "I'm Jazz."

"Prowl," the other mech says stiffly.

"Well Prowl, it's nice to meet you. And since I've already been given every possible warning about you." Again that small hitch in the steady hum. "It's only fair to let you know that I'm not exactly quiet. Really, I've been told I never shut up," he gives Prowl an amused smirk. "And in this tiny room, I'll probably end up in your personal space a lot. Just tell me to shut up or back off or something when it starts bothering you, okay?"

This time the hum of the cooling fans stutters a few times before resuming its normal rhythm and he's sure the doorwings twitch.

"I will," Prowl affirms after a moment of silence.

He smiles at the mech. "Then I think we'll be fine."

He can hear the tense quiver of cables wind down, the soft whir of servos shifting slightly, the slight hiss of tension being let go. Prowl doesn't move at all.

And slag it all, if he doesn't just think that maybe, maybe things really might be fine. At least for now.

* * *

According to Prowls processors it has been fifty eight orns, four joors, five breems and nine point six astroseconds since Prowl last saw Jazz. Prowl is outside the Ark. He is on his way to see Wheeljack, who has decided that one of his experiments is too dangerous to be conducted inside the Ark. Prowl had not mentioned to Wheeljack that seventy eight percent of all his experiments cause an explosion at some point.

Prowl is at a point where he knows he's not visible from the Ark when he sees a black blur at the corner of his optic. A fraction of an astrosecond later the blur resolves into Ravage and that's all the time Prowl has before he's lying on his back, jolts of agony from his doorwings shooting through him and face to face with the snarling Decepticon standing on his chestplate.

Prowl remembers the gouges in Sideswipe's chestplate as sharp claws flex and scrape against his chassis. He would raise the alarm, but he's already found out that he's being jammed, which is to be expected. Prowl doesn't want to think it, but Jazz does know him well enough that he is likely the reason for how completely Ravage managed to surprise Prowl.

The four legged Decepticon growls once more before its expression turns into what can only be described as a grin. It turns its head sideways and lightly bats its front ped at Prowl's faceplate. Then it bows its head over Prowl's chestplate and drops something from its mouth before bounding away.

Prowl raises the alarm. He picks up the data chip and gets up before anyone has had time to reach him. Whatever is on the chip, only one mech he can think of would have sent it to him.

There's no logical reason for it, but Prowl still finds himself smiling.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Walk Softly [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/312976) by [tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic)




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